


If You Want Blood (You Got It)

by fannyvonfabulus



Series: The Sexual Adventures of S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Pussy [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angry Sex, Breathplay, Clint gets pissy, DJ is bored, F/M, I suck a tags, Kinda, Steve is NOT a babysitter, Violent Sex, and so is everyone else in the Tower, and then angry fighty sex happens, don't touch Clint's stuff unless you like what follows, everyone is bored and start to get ansy, except for when he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannyvonfabulus/pseuds/fannyvonfabulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is away in Washington, the bad guys are apparently taking a few weeks off and everyone in the Tower is starting to get ansy.</p><p>Clint gets pissy, DJ gets pissier and then TA-DA! Angry super sexy fun times happen!</p><p>Basically, don't touch Clint's stuff. Or do.  Depends if you like what follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Want Blood (You Got It)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This contains angry, fighty, violent sex, but it's all 100% consensual. Just don't read if that's something that triggers you.
> 
> Title taken from an AC/DC song. Again.
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. All comments welcome!
> 
> PS: This is kind of a sucky installment but one that I wanted to write. I may rewrite it later on. Depends.

**PART 4**

**If You Want Blood (You Got It)**  

Wandering onto the communal floor, I find Clint sprawled out on one of the huge couches that Tony has furnished the room with.  Not that anyone ever usesthe others;weall just squish onto one,with Thorusuallydraped over the rug on the floor,Asgardianstyle.  And he makesa pretty good foot rest when he sitsstill for long enough. 

“ _Booooooored_ …….” I huff as I flop down next to Clint and swing my feet into his lap.  It’s been pretty quiet this week and now that I’ve been officiallyrosteredto the S.H.I.E.L.D. crew that backs up the Avengers, I don’t get sent off to wherever S.H.I.E.L.D. needs me anymore.   Phil isstillFury’s right hand man and Avengers Liaison and I, apparently, am now _Phil’s_ right handwhen it comes to S.H.I.E.L.D. related stuff. And that means that I now live in thetower andgetbe around Phil and Clint most of the time. Apart from today because Phil is on wing man duty for Furyin front of the WSC in Washington.  He’s going to be in a foul mood when he gets home, always is when he has to talk to the WSC.  Until then, it's just me and Clint.  Well, the others are probably around somewhere: Tony down in his workshop, Bruce in his lab.  Natasha and Steve are probably down in the gym and Thor is.....well Thor could be anywhere between here andAsgardfor all I know: the man is a law unto himself. 

So, it’s just me and Clint.  And he's currently playing Peggle on the XBox .  He always goes a bit quiet and a little withdrawn when Phil gets sent off somewhere without him.  They've been agent and handler for so long now that I know how it must affect Clint when it happens.  He'll be worrying about no-one having Phil's back, even though he's safe in Washington in a board room.  Well, relatively safe anyway.  And he's got Fury.  He couldn’t be safer than if he was at the tower.  Phil and Fury go back years, right back to when they were Rangers together.  I laughed so hard that coffee came out my nose when I discovered that Phil is actually called Cheese.  The glint in Fury's eye when he told me that was something I’d never seen before.  It was a fondness I wouldn’t have thought possible from the one eyed boss man.

 " _Boooooooooored_.......Bored, bored, _BORED_!" I reiterate to Clint and attempt to stick a toe up his left nostril.  Having nothing to do is always a dangerous thing for me, especially in a tower full of high tech wizardry and a family of highly trained and highly strung agents and geniuses.  Tony and I are testamentto that.  The last time the pair of us were left alone with nothing to do for a day we trashed the communal lounge by trying to blow up a gang of tiny robots that Tony had made when he was bored.  Steve went ape shit. 

"Go and annoy someone else," Clint grumbles and swats my foot away from his face.   

"But I'm _bored_...." I whine, adding a pout for good measure and going for Clint's ear with my toe instead.  I get an iron like grip around my ankle this time as he holds my leg out in midair making it difficult for me to get any leverage to pull it away.  He raises an eyebrow at me and he gets my freezing cold other foot underneath his t-shirt. 

“Fuck. _OFF_!” Clint hisses as he drops my leg and throws himself towards the other end of the couch to get away from my ice like toes against his skin.  I can’t help laughing at Badass Barton acting like a complete wuss when it comes to cold toes.  

“Awww, c’mon.  I need something to do before I go out of my tiny mind with boredom,” I whine, flopping back against the cushions.  “Seriously, I’m so fucking bored right now that I’m actually considering doing my paperwork.” 

“Wow. You really are bored!” Clint sniggers, cautiously making his way back up the couch towards me but I’m too bored to start with the feet thing again.  

“Yeah. And where are all the bad guys anyway?” I sigh, hoisting up my legs and stretching them across Clint’s lap as soon as he’s close enough.  “Not that I’m complaining or anything.  It’s nice not to have to wash brick dust and blood out of my hair for the 4th time in a week.  It’s just......” 

“Feel like there’s an itch under your skin?  Like all the pent up energy has nowhere to go?  Almost like there’s something missing?” Clint finishes. 

“Exactly that,” I nod, a frown forming on my face.  “No-one likes fighting or getting shot at but at the same time....” 

“You kinda do,” Clint smiles fondly.  “And that’s because you’re trained for it.  Having nothing to do for any extended period of time when we have the jobs that we do can always cause problems.  The trick is to try and keep your brain occupied.” 

“Is that why you play random shit on the Xbox?” I ask, nodding towards the huge TV screen at the paused game of Peggle.  

“Exactly.  And for different people it’s different things,” Clint takes one of my feet in his hands and digs his calloused thumbs in, forcing a groan from me.  “Steve and Tasha go and spar together before they both go off to read or paint.  Tony and Bruce disappear into their own little techy, science worlds.  Me?  I like to keep my brain sharp.  I play games like that or solve math problems.” 

“You? Math problems?” I ask incredulously.  It’s not that Clint is dumb by any means, far from it.  He’s one of the smartest people I know, just in a different way from Tony or Bruce. 

“What?  Don’t think I’ve got the brain power?” Clint teases.  “Do you know how much on-the-spot math and physics I have to do when we’re out there?  There’s a reason my arrows never miss y’know.”  And it makes sense.  It’s not just that Clint is a mean shot thanks to constant practice: it takes a serious amount of science too.  And the sort of brain power that would make Tony jealous if he knew about it.  Being able to think that fast during battle to make sure that every arrow lands where it should, and all without JARVIS, is an almost super human skill to have. 

“You do know that the fact you can do complex mathematical equations on the fly makes you even sexier, right?” I grin at Clint and I’m delighted when his cheeks pink just a little.

“Just don’t tell Stark or he’ll want to start picking my brains,” Clint scoffs and slouches further back into the couch.  “Bored huh?  Gears of War?” 

“Thought you’d never ask.....” 

****   ****    ****    ****   ****   ****

Two weeks.  

Two weeks Phil has been in Washington with Fury. 

And two weeks since there’s been any bad guys to fight.  I feel as though I’m about to crawl out of my skin with boredom and two week’s worth of pent up energy is simmering dangerously close to the surface .  No evil to shoot at, no angry gods with daddy issues and I can’t sit still or concentrate on anything.  My paperwork is all done for want of something to do and I know I’m not the only one to be feeling the itch.  Tasha managed 4 days before she went to Hill and asked for the shortest assignment they had.  She left the same night with Sitwell and came home 3 days later with blood smears across her cheek, rips in her uniform and a lazy, sated smile tugging at her lips.  No-one has seen Tony or Bruce for days aside from meal times and Clint has been through all the training exercises that JARVIS has programmed on the tower’s range level.  Steve seems to be the only one who isn’t going quietly mad, taking full advantage of the downtime to paint and read in between working out and advising Hill on a few things.  And if he’s been through more punching bags than usual then no-one is saying anything. 

The worst thing though is that everyone is getting snappier and more abrupt with each other.  Steve tries his best but it’s not easy when he has to do things like separate Tony and Clint last night before the pinching and eye poking started over the fact that Clint had taken the last donut.  It was Tony’s favourite and the billionaire did _not_ take kindly to Clint swiping it and then shoving the entire thing in his mouth right in front of the genius.  Everyone is slowly unravelling and there won’t always be a super solider around to step in. 

A two hour work out in the gym has done nothing to ease the restlessness running through my veins so I figure I’ll head to the range-come-training room and let off a round or a thousand, see if it doesn’t take the edge off.  If it doesn’t then I’m seriously considering trying to get Bruce to Hulk out just so that there’s a mess to clean up. 

There’s no-one in the training room when I get there, but I spot Clint’s bow case laid on the table to one side which means he must have already been down for a session.  I go over to the weapons locker, full of things that S.H.I.E.L.D. knows nothing about, and won’t if Tony has anything to say about it, and pull out my favourite Glocks plus enough ammo to bring down a small army:  I fully intend of shooting the shit out of anything that JARVIS can throw at me.  I can’t be bothered to go and change so I just strap my thigh holsters on over the top of my workout shorts, slotting the spare mags into the pouches around the belt.  When I get over to the table with Clint’s bow case, I pick it up and move it back to the locker where it’ll be safer and won’t get in the way. 

“OK J, what have you got for me?” 

_What did you have in mind for today Miss Johnson?_

“I think you know me well enough by now J!” I laugh, cracking my neck and getting into a ready stance, fingers twitching beside the handles of my Glocks in their holsters. 

 _Hard and fast it is then DJ_ JARVIS snarks and I can’t help giving the nearest camera a wicked grin.   

That’s all the warning I get before an alarm signals that whichever programme that JARVIS has decided on is starting.  Half the lights in the huge room go out and within seconds I’m running the gauntlet of holographic targets that whip past me, all projected onto a backdrop of a hectic street scene.  I lose myself in the flow of it, at last feeling some of the tension start to leave my shoulders as I duck and roll, picking each of my shots in a split second.  JARVIS isn’t going easy on me and I’m glad of it as he has me running all over the training room.  The pull of muscle and the ache that sets in after a while is a welcome feeling and one that I’ve missed over the last few weeks.  I’m just getting into my stride when all the lights come on at once and the holograms disappear abruptly.  I blink rapidly and stand up from where I’m crouched, guns still trained on the empty space that, until a second ago, contained a particularly angry looking Chitauri. 

“What. The Fuck.” says Clint and I stand up to find him standing over by the weapons locker pointing at his bow case.  

“What?” I ask, holstering my Glocks and crossing my arms. 

“Did you move that?” Clint asks again, the anger in his eyes startling me a little. 

“I did.” 

“Why?” 

“I asked JARVIS to run a programme for me and I didn’t want it to get damaged or knocked off the table or......” 

“It was on the fucking table _Agent_ , it would have been fine,” Clint hisses and I’m really not appreciating his tone. 

“I was just making sure _Barton_ ,” I spit back, hands moving to my hips in defiance.  “So sue me; I moved your fucking bow case so I didn’t accidently knock it onto the floor or something.” 

“Don’t ever touch it again,” Clint snarls and yeah, I’m angry now.  How fucking _dare_ he?  I know he loves his gear, his bows especially, but Jesus!  I only moved it to somewhere safe for fucks sake.  

“Fuck you.  That’s the last time I do something nice for you,” I growl back and we just stand there, glaring at each other. 

“Don’t. Touch it.  Again.” 

That’s it, I’m done.  In the time it takes Clint to blink, I’m across the gap between us and landing a punch.  He reels backwards, startled for a millisecond before he’s throwing a punch of his own, one that I manage to duck just in time.  I draw back and slide a leg behind me, fists coming up in front of my face as my Tae Kwondo training kicks in.  There’s a slight smirk on Clint’s face as he wipes his bleeding lip on the back of his hand and he catches on fast.  I have about half a second before he’s crouching down and trying to take my feet out from under me.

Oh, this is gonna be fun. 

It’s a little messy and a lot angry as we both go at each other, fists flying and sometimes landing.  Clint’s fast, much faster than me and he shuts down my legs as soon as he sees me try.  He knows I’ve got the reach advantage if I can use my legs so he’s not letting me.  It’s frustrating and it draws a growl from me. 

He wants to play dirty, does he?  I can do that. 

He doesn’t see the punch I throw that connects with his stomach and he staggers back under the force of it.  He’s on the back foot so a few more punches in quick succession hit their mark.  There’s no time for me to revel in the fact that I caught him out though because there’s a burst of pain across my cheek as Clint’s knuckles connect.  Now it’s my turn to stagger backwards, shaking my head to try and rid my eyes of the black spots suddenly clouding my vision. 

“That the best you got, _pussy_?” Clint grins, blood on his teeth as the spots in my eyes clear.  His grin doesn’t last long as I launch myself at him, shoulder connecting with his sternum and taking us both to the floor.  On the way down, I bring my knees up underneath me so that when we hit the floor, I’ve got his biceps pinned and I’m sitting on his stomach, hands slapping the floor either side of his head.  We glare at each other, adrenaline starting to spike and it shouldn’t be hot but for the moment that I have him pinned, I can feel the familiar heat start to pool deep in my groin.  I know he’s stronger and faster, but I’m not going to let him win easily, not when I have so much bottled up fight just under my skin itching to get out.  Everything is quiet for a moment, nothing but our slightly ragged breathing to puncture the air that starts to feel heavy between us.  He gives me all of a few seconds before he arches his back and throws me off balance so that he can roll out from under me to throw himself onto my back so that I hit the floor, all the breath momentarily knocked out of my lungs.  He uses a forearm against the back of my neck to pin me under him, his weight keeping me flat against the floor.  “C’mon.  You can do better than that.”  

He’s left my arms free and I take full advantage by reaching them up and over my head to slap them over his ears, making him shout at the sharp pain.  At the same time, I get my hips up off the floor with enough force to give me the room to roll over so that we’re chest to chest.  Only problem is that his forearm is now across my throat and the pressure against my larynx is starting to cut off my air.  I wrap my thighs around his waist and squeeze.  I don’t have the kind of power that Tasha does but when I arch my back up off the floor and cross my ankles behind his back, I can do a fair amount of damage.  With my arms free, I get my hands around his neck and dig my thumbs hard into the fleshy groove in between both collarbones and squeeze.  Clint splutters as his face starts to go red, his forearm pressing down on my throat harder as neither one of us is going to give this up any time soon.  I get all my weight up onto my shoulders, using my grip around his waist as leverage to get my lower body completely off the floor and tighten my thighs around his stomach as hard as I can.  He pushes forwards, my shoulders sliding back a little against the smooth floor.  He twists, bringing a leg up until it’s flush against the back of one of my thighs and that gives him the angle to get a hand down to my leg to try and prise my thigh from around his waist.  It also brings his crotch into contact with mine and his sweats are doing nothing to hide the fact that he’s painfully hard.  It makes me gasp in a breath, which is getting harder to do with his arm across my windpipe.  We’re almost nose to nose and despite the fact that both of us are struggling to breathe, he strains against my grip around his neck to take my lips in a bruising kiss.  It feels like an electric shock when his lips meet mine and, as  my vision starts to cloud around the edges due to lack of oxygen, I kiss him back.  It’s a fight for dominance, all biting teeth and angry tongues but it’s perfect.  Add to that the lack of oxygen and I can’t help the groan that escapes the back of my throat. 

Clint pulls away slightly and eases up a little on my neck so that I can drag a breath in and then another and another.  I do the same for him but neither of us are letting go completely.  We glare at each other for a few moments before I manage to catch Clint off guard enough to roll us over so I’m straddling him again.  I’ve still got my hands around his neck and give them a little squeeze so that I can hear him suck in a breath, ragged against my hands.  Clint’s hands find my holsters and take my Glocks out to throw them across the floor.  The safety is on both of them but this is about to get interesting and it wouldn’t do if one of them went off accidently.  His hands wrap around my hips and press, knowing full well there will be bruises by the time I’m finished with him.  

Pressing against Clint’s neck again, I lunge down to take his lips in another bruising kiss as I feel his nails dig into to my hips through my shorts.  It feels like he’s trying to crush my pelvis inwards and I can’t get enough.  I want more.  More pain, more aggression, all of it.  I need it all.  One of Clint’s hands comes up to my throat and he wraps those clever fingers of his around it, his calluses catching against my sweat covered skin.  His other hand fists the thin material of my shorts and pulls.  Hard.  While I’m nipping at his bloodied lips, I feel the material give and the training room is filled with the sound of ripping cotton.  I feel the cool air of the room against my now slick folds and I have to let go of Clint’s throat to get my hands in between us to start pawing at his sweats.  I manage to get them down low enough to free his perfect cock, taking it my hand and squeezing hard at the base, my other hand returning to his throat.  Clint hisses and replies by gripping my throat harder and trying to flip us again.  He doesn’t get far when I press my knees harder into his sides, feeling his ribs start to give a little and he arches up.  I have to slam a hand against the floor to the side of Clint’s head as the motion pitches me forward and it’s far enough for Clint get hold on my hip, angle his cock and slide home with a rough thrust of his hips.  We both groan into the stillness of the training room and Clint manages to surge up into a sitting position to catch my now bloodied bottom lip between his teeth and start worrying the split.  I growl at him which just makes him bite harder.  The answer is those wonderful hands grabbing my thigh holsters and using them for leverage to start moving, thrusting up roughly and using the straps to pull me down onto him with each upwards movement of his hips. 

“Fuck Lissy,” Clint hisses.  


“Shut up and fuck me Barton,” I gasp back, finger nails digging into his shoulders through his t-shirt.  

He doesn’t need any other prompting to pull out, flip me over and shove my face onto the smooth, cool floor of the training room.  He grips my hips harshly, pulling my ass into the air and thrusting back into me hard enough for my cheek bone to grind against the hard floor.  The bruise that’s already blooming there protests but I almost don’t feel it, my brain exploding with blissful sparks as Clint pounds into me.  He curls a fist under the waist strap of my holsters and uses that to pull me back towards him each time he shoves brutally forwards.  He folds himself in half over me, meaning that his thrusts aren’t as deep but they’re just as harsh.  I’m going to be walking funny for a day or two but it’s so fucking worth it. His t-shirt clings to the sweat slicked skin of my back not covered by my sports bra and when I feel Clint’s hand snaking around my waist and up between my breasts to my throat, I almost lose it right there and then. 

“Do it,” I hiss at Clint and he doesn’t need to be told twice, just wraps his hand around my throat and starts squeezing.  I moan out load, unable to contain it as I feel Clint’s fingers start to cut off my air.  My vision starts to blur a little at the edges, each of Clint’s thrusts shoving me forwards into the grip of his hand and when he tightens his fingers that little bit more, it’s all I need to send me hurtling over the edge into my climax just as I start to black out from lack of oxygen. 

I come to face down on the floor with Clint slumped over my back and panting like a race horse as his cock starts to soften inside me.  I cough a little before groaning as the motion causes my battered cheek to rub against the floor.  

“You OK kiddo?” Clint huffs in my ear, lifting some of his weight off me with both hands braced on the floor either side of my head. 

“Oh yeah,” I rasp, voice wrecked after having Clint’s hands around my neck.  He rolls off my back and onto the floor next to me so that I can flop over onto my back, wincing as my groin twinges and throbs.  “Well.  That escalated quickly.” 

Clint somehow finds the energy to lift his head and look at us both.  His t-shirt is bunched up under his armpits and he didn’t even get his sweats all the way off both legs so they’re tangled around his knees.  My sports bra has ridden up and my soft, cotton shorts are in tatters, completely ripped apart by Clint’s hands.  The only thing that stayed put are my thigh holsters with their belt and that just makes the whole thing look ridiculous. We’re both splattered with each other’s blood and there are purpling bruises peppering our skin as well as split knuckles and blackening eyes.  We’re both a hot mess and I can’t help giggling at the absurdity of it all.  It doesn’t take long to become a full blown belly laugh, tears escaping the corner of my eyes as I lie there on the floor covered in bruises and naked but for a set of empty gun holsters and a wonky sports bra.  Any tension that I still have dissipates with each breath I suck in in-between laughs and Clint is soon joining in too.  By the time we manage to get ourselves under control, we’re a tangle of giggling limbs with me sprawled out on his chest and my face buried in his chest. 

_Miss Johnson, Captain Rogers has asked me to remind you that the training room doors can be locked should they need to be_ JARVIS suddenly echoes around the room when our laughter subsides.  _I took the liberty to lock the doors on your behalf when Master Barton entered the room._

“J, I would be lost without you,” I gasp as Clint’s frame shakes with fresh giggles. 

_I thought it the best course of action when Captain Rogers arrived at the training room.  I made the assumption that you and Master Barton would not want to be disturbed_ . _Despite his relationship with my creator, Captain Rogers has yet to.... embrace Master Stark’s proclivity for voyeurism._

That, of course, does absolutely nothing to stem the tide of yet more manic laughter.


End file.
